


Karkat: Abscond

by roundabout



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-20
Updated: 2012-02-20
Packaged: 2017-10-31 11:38:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/343627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roundabout/pseuds/roundabout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And like that everything changes. The floor and the walls and the ceiling all melt away until you're all left standing in the middle of a field of what looks like Alternian sweetgrass, and your Ancestors are just sort of standing there across from you, staring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Karkat: Abscond

You don't know how it happens. One minute you're standing in the middle of your makeshift command center, Rose and Dave side by side at the head of the alchemized table, having your very last goddamn pow-wow before waging a pointless, suicidal war against Jack and letting your decaying, multicoloured corpses get flung into your new session via cold, miserable piece of asteroid shit, and the next you're all blinking blearily, swaying on your feet, rubbing at your ganderbulbs and trying to stay awake.

As you fall, gripping Gamzee's elbow like a goddamn clingbeast the whole way down, you swear you can hear Aradia's giggle.

When you open your eyes, you're all standing in the same fucking room, side by side. You know you're in a dreambubble because Aradia is sitting on the table, swinging her feet, rust-red wings fluttering in excitement. Sollux is standing next to her, hip pressed against her left knee, and he's smirking. You'd be happy to see them, especially Sollux, if you didn't want to punch them in the fucking face for leaving you alone for three years.

Sollux opens his mouth, face turned toward you like he wants to say something, but Aradia nudges him gently and says to you all, "I think there are a few people you should meet."

And like that everything changes. The floor and the walls and the ceiling all melt away until you're all left standing in the middle of a field of what looks like Alternian sweetgrass, and your Ancestors are just sort of standing there across from you, staring.

There's dead silence. Gamzee is as stiff as a board under your fingers and Terezi next to you is practically vibrating with energy. Someone makes a sound, a choking, abortive breath, and your freshly filled-in eyes lock on to identical red and for the life of you, you can't look away.

Surprisingly, it's Strider that breaks the calm. He takes one hesitant wrigglerstep forward, and then another, and then with a high, childish cry that you all know he'll deny making later, he's launching himself into the open and waiting arms of his adult human male lusus. 

Rose is next, stepping wearily up to her own guardian with a painfully hopeful expression. Terezi then moves, bounding up to her Ancestor, nostrils flaring to catch her scent. Kanaya is cautious, but blatantly interested. Gamzee catches your hand with his long, crooked fingers and squeezes hard, honking softly under his breath, and then he steps towards the huge, hulking mass that could only be his Ancestor.

Then it's just you and yours, staring at each other from across a field that smells and feels like home. You do the only thing you can think of.

You run.

\---

Alternia is, you correct yourself, was a very dangerous place. You're on edge as you navigate through the remembered forest on instinct, legs burning, moving too fast to really see where you're going. The dreambubble melts and shifts into different parts that you know logically were nowhere near each other until you're finally hopelessly lost. Something sick and hot is coiling in your stomach and you nearly fall flat on your face when you skid to a stop. You snarl, lashing out with your claws at the nearest tree, and you're not really sure why you're so angry.

Maybe because this isn't supposed to be happening. Maybe because you're supposed to be getting ready to face the fucking music and try to take down Jack and instead you're running through dreambubbles, away from the very beings you've denied the existence of your entire goddamn life. 

Maybe because there was another troll standing right in front of you with your candy-red eyes, wearing horns and a face painfully similar to yours, but with one of the kindest, most empathetic expressions you've ever seen directed towards you, and you ran the fuck away like a wriggler running from his lusus at ablutiontime.

You hear the crunch of dead leaves underfoot to your left and you spin, calling your sickles from your strife specibus automatically. You don't know what you're expecting to burst through the thick, thorny underbrush, but it sure as fuck isn't your Ancestor.

You drop your sickles. His lips twitch into a soft smile, calloused fingers playing with the hemline of his cloak. You drop down onto your ass for good measure.

He's taller than you. It's evident in the way he folds himself onto the forest floor in front of you. He pays no mind to the way the dirt cakes his clothing, instead focuses on your face with his red, red eyes wide and open and honest and soothing like you're a fucking kicked barkbeast cowering in the corner of his hive.

You try not to shrink back when he reaches for you. You're seven and a half sweeps old and you're sickened by yourself; you should be better than this. You're half a sweep shy of being an honorary adult and your eyes have already filled in and your skin is already darkening. You should be standing proudly, meeting him head on with a clear head and a mouthful of your characteristic vitriolic wit.

You can't find the words to rant now. You reach for your premier choice of defense and your thinkpan comes up empty. All your harsh words are hazy, untouchable wisps of smoke at the edges of your mind.

His hand is warm when it cups your cheek, matching your temperature exactly. It sends you reeling after sweeps of the colder temperatures of other-blooded trolls. His thumb sweeps your cheekbone and that's when you realize you're crying.

"Shoosh," he whispers, voice rough and low. That painfully pitying look is still etched into the lines of his face and you're launching yourself at him like you're Dave goddamn Strider, clutching the fabric of his cloak in your clenched fists, breathing him in.

His hands pap your back and stroke your hair and you find yourself telling him everything, every stupid inconsequential detail of your life, about growing up on Alternia with your Crabdad and about the measures you've had to take to keep yourself from being culled, all the things that you've never been able to tell anyone else and he just sits with you on the ground and takes it. He listens. He cares. 

"It's hard," you find yourself saying, shaking and crying against him, "being a fucking mutant. It's hard and no one understands."

"I know," he replies simply, cupping the base of your skull, rocking both of you gently side to side. "I know."

And then he's talking and you're the one listening, pulling back so you're both knee-to-knee, foreheads resting together, short nubby horns clicking against one another when you shift. You keep your fingers locked in his clothing; he keeps his hand gently on the back of your neck.

You close your eyes and listen to the cadence of his voice as he talks about his life: growing up, the memories that were his and at the same time weren't his that plagued his dreams, being raised by the Dolorosa, his beliefs, his movement, his detainment, his death. You're both shaking when he's done.

He's haunted and pitiful and your cardiovascular pump aches in your chest and you find yourself talking about your session and your shithive maggots attempt at leadership and all the death and bloodshed and cancer and hopelessness that are all your fucking fault.

You can't take the way he knocks his horns against yours and chirps high in his throat and says, "I'm proud of you. You did your very best and you tried so hard. You risked everything and kept yourself and your session together and that's more than anyone ever could have hoped for. Karkat, I'm so fucking _proud_ of you."

You don't have the breath or the heart to argue with him so you just sit there and soak in his words at face value, accepting them as truth. You bite down on the inside of your cheek until you taste red and try not to start crying again. He rubs circles against the nubs of your spine and it feels like absolution.

That's how Aradia finds you. She politely makes noise as she steps in closer, branches and dead leaves crackling loudly, and stops a healthy distance away. "It's time," she tells you both, reluctant smile on her thin black lips. 

You wipe your face clean and you both stand. He turns to you and hugs you properly. He smells like earth and fire and sweat and red and you cling to him, cherishing the warm, solid feeling of him in your arms. 

When you pull back you're both smiling, wide and ready and honest. Aradia shifts her weight awkwardly and your share a look with your Ancestor and both of you laugh. She nods and starts leading you back towards the others.

You match your pace with the Signless and you feel renewed with every step. You break into the clearing together, identical half-smiles still pulling at your lips. You don't say goodbye. You're facing down Jack; you'll be back soon enough.

You nod at Sollux from across the field and hope he knows. Gamzee sidles up beside you and he looks simultaneously more calm and more wild that you've ever seen him. You reach out and pap his arm gently for good measure. 

"You all up and motherfucking ready, best friend?" His voice is sedate, tone fluctuating, but barely. His eyes are bright and clear and focused.

You exchange one last look with your Ancestor and step away from him, closer to your moirail. You grin and lace your fingers with his. "Let's go."

**Author's Note:**

> This was a complete accident. My first Homestuck fic, totally unbeta'd, a response to an already filled homesmut prompt, and the product of intense procrastination. I'm not great as writing Karkat, even worse at writing the Signless, and the queen of run on sentences. And this still wouldn't get out of my head. The moment I read the prompt, I was assaulted by two images: Dave running into Bro's arms completely unironically, and Karkat running the fuck away. 
> 
> Bottom line, I hope it's worth the read.


End file.
